


Edges We Tread

by iodhadh



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Affectionate Insults, F/F, F/M, Minor Knife Play, Multi, Open Relationships, Relationship Negotiation, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iodhadh/pseuds/iodhadh
Summary: When a careless joke brings up memories Aveline has long thought dead and buried, she's prepared to face the worst—except, as it turns out, she has the most understanding husband in Thedas. As she rekindles her aborted affair with Isabela, it takes her down roads she never thought she'd be able to explore—and to places none of them were expecting.Alright, so it's not love. But does it have to be?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keita52](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/gifts).



> This got... very out of hand, my god. I had originally projected it at around 10k, and even that was excessive. And now... here we are. _Here we are._
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely beta, Jadis, for her hilarious commentary on my banter. Thanks also to Toft, who bore the brunt of me yelling about this fic, and the crew on Twitter and Skype who wrote (and drew!) at my side. I am also grateful to Carly Rae Jepsen's E•MO•TION album and B-Sides, which served as my soundtrack for 75% of the writing process and somehow kept me sane.
> 
> To my dear recipient: you seem like a lovely person. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Oh, and I really have no idea where this frankly absurd Hawke came from. Please don't ask.

All in all, Aveline was happy in Kirkwall. Sure, the city was a volatile disaster that seemed ready to explode at any moment, but at least she was used to it; by this point, that was just the backdrop. Her life was pretty good, as things went. She had a job she enjoyed, the respect of the guard, a wonderful, loving husband, and a gaggle of miscreants that she might even go so far as to term “friends.”

Some of them had some odd ideas, though. Especially Hawke. Hawke had a _lot_ of odd ideas.

Chief among them was his firmly held belief that the Hanged Man was a genuinely pleasant place to spend his off hours. Only just behind was his insistence that said off hours were somehow incomplete if they didn’t include the presence of as many of his friends as possible. And finally—rounding out the package that had so exasperated Aveline in their early days in Kirkwall—was the rock-solid conviction that, no matter how busy they were or how touchy the current political situation, as long as the streets weren’t literally on fire there was nothing so urgent it couldn’t wait for a drink and a hand of cards.

Unfortunately, much of his band of loyal delinquents seemed to share his opinions. And so—aided by Varric, Isabela, and, perversely, Fenris—Hawke had repeatedly coerced her down to the pub until she had given up on understanding and just accepted it.

Of course, that had been years ago. By this point she was so used to it that it was practically second nature. She even occasionally found herself in agreement with them—not that she’d ever admit it. Hawke probably knew anyway, the bastard. Isabela certainly did; she was even worse.

This was a night like many others: the Hanged Man, past the midnight hour, on an otherwise completely respectable Tuesday night. They had started in the taproom, playing overlapping games of diamondback and wicked grace at one of the tables large enough for their entire company, but as the night wound on their numbers had gradually dwindled. Then they had moved up to Varric’s room instead, where the chairs were more comfortable and the drink was marginally better, and settled in for the long haul.

There were only six of them now—Aveline, Hawke, Isabela, Fenris, Varric himself, and Donnic, who had joined them after a late patrol. Sebastian had stayed as long as he ever did—as stiffly as he ever did—then excused himself for the evening; Anders had left not long after, looking preoccupied and muttering about his clinic. Merrill had gotten the giggles not long past when they’d moved to Varric’s room, and Isabela had taken her down the hall to hers to sleep it off. Aveline had half-expected not to see Isabela for the rest of the night either, but she’d returned twenty minutes later and dropped onto the bench next to Aveline, leaning over her lap to steal Fenris’s bottle of wine.

And so Aveline let herself relax. She was surrounded by her people, troublesome and mismatched as they were—her husband’s solid bulk on one side, Isabela laughing and teasing Fenris on the other, Varric and Hawke across the table bickering over the story they were making up out of whole cloth. She was warm and comfortable and for once the problems of the guard seemed a lifetime away. There was something to be said for her friends’ odd ideas, in the end.

“With an earth-shaking roar, the dragon swooped low, landing in the Bone Pit with a thunderous crash,” Varric was saying.

“But I stood my ground!” Hawke declaimed, gesturing dramatically and slopping a bit of ale from his tankard in his enthusiasm. “I raised my staff and cast a bolt of lightning at its head—”

“Staggering the beast and making it stumble back,” Varric cried, picking up the thread. “It let out a mighty screech and lunged to attack—”

“Oh, bullshit,” Isabela interrupted cheerfully, taking a swig from her stolen wine bottle. “That’s not how it happened at all. I was actually there, unlike some dwarves I could name.”

Varric pressed a hand to his chest. “Isabela, you wound me,” he said. “A little embellishment is necessary for any good story, you know that.”

“Oh, embellishment? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” she said. “Because what I remember is Hawke trying so hard to _look_ impressive that he forgot about actually _being_ impressive, and got knocked flat on his ass when the dragon hit the ground.”

“You’d certainly know about being flat on your ass, Isabela,” Aveline said. Fenris snorted into his wine glass; Donnic hid a smile.

Isabela just grinned, draping herself across Aveline’s shoulder. “And what of it, big girl? You should give it a try sometime, it might dislodge the stick you keep up there.”

“Got it covered, thanks,” Aveline said, lifting a hand from her tankard to pat her husband’s thigh.

Donnic cleared his throat as if to say something, and then, apparently thinking better of it in the face of Isabela’s cackling, took a drink instead.

Hawke was loftily ignoring them all, which they could tell because he announced, “I am loftily ignoring you all. See this? This is me, ignoring you. Loftily. Because you are slandering my good name, and I don’t have to listen to this.”

“I haven’t said anything,” Fenris pointed out, not unreasonably.

Hawke reflected for a moment, then stabbed a finger in his direction. “That’s true,” he said. “You can stay.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I am gratified to live up to your impressive standards,” he said, a small smile nevertheless tugging at his lips—at least until he caught Aveline looking at him, whereupon it promptly disappeared behind his wineglass.

Hawke and Varric went back to making up stories—or, depending on how you looked at it, telling outrageous lies—and Aveline tuned them out, just enjoying the warmth of companionship. Donnic’s arm was around her waist, and she leaned into him comfortably, her hands wrapped loosely around her tankard. Isabela, too, was still draped against her other side, the bare skin of her thigh warm against the leather of Aveline’s trousers. Aveline looked down at her, then away, uncertain of where to settle her eyes.

Not for the first time she wondered how Isabela could go through her life with so much of her skin on display—how she could be at ease like that, simultaneously so aware and so heedless of her own body. Try as she might, Aveline couldn’t remember ever being that confident in herself, not even as a child. Even in her own bed, with a husband who loved her and was captivated by her hard body and work-roughened skin, she still had moments of unwarranted self-consciousness.

But Isabela had always been like that: whatever path had led her to Kirkwall had also seen her take firm ownership of her entire self, and now she was impervious to shame. It had frustrated Aveline at first, that Isabela could be so free with her sexuality when Aveline had just lost her husband and, she’d thought, the only love of her life. She had taken out her frustrations in unkind ways back then.

But Isabela had never seemed to take it for an unkindness. The first time Aveline had called her a whore, she had laughed and laughed, and made some inappropriate joke, and carried on with a sway in her step. And Aveline had been incensed, but Isabela had never been rattled by her insults. Eventually they had come to an understanding, but it had taken them years.

Her frustrations had been long and deep, and had bubbled over in some ways better left unspoken now.

Donnic nudged her gently, sending her thoughts scattering. “Are you alright, love?” he said. “You’ve gone all quiet.”

Aveline shook herself. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Just drifting. Don’t worry about me.”

Back then had been a different time, she reflected. For one thing, she’d been single then.

“She’s still thinking about getting knocked on her ass,” Isabela said, in a whisper that carried perfectly to the other side of the table. “Or getting her ass knocked. Either one.”

“You come up with the most fascinating euphemisms,” Fenris muttered.

Aveline scoffed. “Speak for yourself, slattern,” she said. “Just because that’s what _you’re_ thinking about—”

Hawke laughed, or possibly “cackled” would have been a better descriptor for the sound that came out of his mouth. “What, knocking your ass?” he said. He paused, reflective. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t surprise me. She did used to want to sleep with you, you know. She was terribly obvious about it.”

Aveline could feel the flush creeping up her neck to heat her cheeks—her least favourite thing about being a redhead. There was no good reason for it. Hawke had been making comments about her and Isabela for years, if never in quite such crude terms.

“That’s none of your business,” she said, her voice tight.

Hawke did an abrupt double-take. “Wait, what?” he said.

He wasn’t the only one looking at her like that. Aveline was uncomfortably aware of Varric’s scrutiny, of Fenris’s surprise, of Donnic’s cautious confusion. Why had she said that? She had no answer. Maybe it was simply that she was overwarm and a bit fuzzy with drink; maybe it was because she had just been thinking about Isabela’s bared body, and she felt caught out.

Or maybe it had been because next to her, for the briefest moment, she’d felt Isabela go perfectly still.

Aveline sat straighter, squaring her shoulders.

Isabela made an exasperated noise. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said. “You really do wear all your emotions right on your face. You big idiot, you didn’t have to _say_ anything.”

“Shut up, whore,” Aveline snapped, almost reflexive.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isabela said, flapping a hand at her. “Very convincing. Loosen up, big girl. The cat’s out of the bag now.”

Varric coughed. “Do you mean to tell me that you two actually—”

“Drop it, Varric,” Aveline said.

“Wait, but this is—” Hawke began.

“I said _drop it_.”

Aveline stared him down, and eventually he looked away. She gave Varric the same treatment; Fenris, at least, was smart enough to avoid her gaze. Still, it was easier to look at them than it was to look at Donnic. She could feel him watching her, steady and concerned and uncertain.

She didn’t meet his eyes. She wasn’t certain she knew how. The familiar atmosphere of the Hanged Man, usually so warm and comfortable, had never felt more stifling.

 

* * *

 

Donnic, Maker bless him, was a tactful man who knew better to demand answers from Aveline in front of everyone else. He waited until they were five minutes gone from the Hanged Man, winding their way out of the Lowtown Market into the quieter streets that bordered Hightown.

“What’s going on, love?” he said at last. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

He kept his voice soft, like he was soothing a nervous mare. Aveline hated it, even as she thanked her lucky stars for her husband’s gentle heart.

For a moment she considered not answering, or pretending at innocence, but what would be the point of that? He would know she was avoiding the subject—they both would—and Aveline wasn’t given to dissembling.

Besides, she loved Donnic. On some level, perhaps, she owed it to him to tell him about this.

Even if she’d have rather the earth swallowed her up before she spoke a word of it out loud.

She sighed. “I guess you’ve probably figured out there’s more to it than just Hawke making jokes again,” she said.

Donnic huffed in brief amusement. “I gathered as much.”

Aveline inhaled slowly. Andraste’s pyre, why was this so hard to say? Forcibly she stilled the tremor in her hands, hugging her arms around herself and digging her fingers into her biceps. “Isabela and I did have… relations,” she said, groping awkwardly for a word to describe the sexual tension that had once briefly boiled over between them. “It was a long time ago—before I started looking at you seriously, even. And it didn’t last long. We… weren’t really friends yet, back then,” she said. “I’m not sure we could ever have really become friends if we’d kept it up. So… I stopped it. And that’s all it ever was.”

She had avoided looking at him for the length of her explanation, but she chanced a glance up now. He was studying her, his brow furrowed in—something. Not anger, certainly. If Aveline didn’t know better she’d have sworn he was trying to figure something out.

“Why didn’t you ever mention this before?” Donnic said.

He still sounded unreasonably—well, reasonable. Aveline didn’t understand it. Like most things she didn’t understand, it frustrated her.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s in the past. It happened twice, a long time ago, and then never again. And that’s all there is to it.”

She could tell he didn’t entirely believe her, but, mercifully, he was no less tactful now than when he’d brought it up. And so he just nodded, and they lapsed back into a silence that Aveline was sure she could have cut with a knife.

But a moment later Donnic took her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. He didn’t let go all the way home.

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t stop thinking about it after that.

It had been years ago when she and Isabela had crashed together—before Donnic, before Kirkwall had burned, even before the Qunari had really started to become a problem. The summer had been unusually stifling that year, even for the City of Chains, and it had ground Aveline down to her last nerve before the first month was out. Hawke, of course, had been unaffected; the man was annoyingly irrepressible. He had dragged her out to the Wounded Coast, along with Isabela and Merrill, for some whim, some unimportant trinket. Aveline couldn’t even remember what it was now; it was funny how things worked out that way.

Isabela normally fared better than the rest of them in the heat, save perhaps Fenris, but even she had been put out of sorts by the dry dust of the Coast—to say nothing of the bandits. She had gotten in Aveline’s way as they faced down the first of the gangs, and Aveline had snapped at her. Isabela had replied in kind, and that was it: they were stepping on each other all day, snarling and sniping until even Merrill’s good cheer was worn thin.

Hawke had wasted no time in ditching them as soon as they made it back to the city, disappearing with the day’s spoils, and Merrill had vanished into the Undercity to make her way back to the alienage rather than deal with them on her own. Aveline and Isabela had been alone on some Lowtown back street, still irritable, too stubborn to just walk away. It had escalated into a fight over—something, nothing, Aveline couldn’t even remember what, until something had snapped in her and she had grabbed Isabela by the front of her obscenely low-cut shirt and hauled her bodily into a nearby alleyway.

Isabela had crowed with wicked mirth, had writhed against her body and had made some lewd challenge, and Aveline—well. It wasn’t the first time Isabela had said those things, not by a long shot, but Aveline was unreasonably furious, made frustrated by the heat, and she wasn’t thinking clearly. When Isabela shoved her leg between Aveline’s thighs, Aveline didn’t respond as expected: instead she slammed her back against the wall and kissed her, violently, an angry clash of lips and teeth that left her giddy and reeling. That had been it for her.

Isabela was satisfyingly stunned when she pulled back, her lips bitten red and her eyes gone wide. She drew in a ragged breath and started to speak, but before she’d gotten the first syllable out Aveline kissed her again, and it was lost in a moan instead.

She gave as good as she got: Aveline’s lip was bloody when they next pulled apart. She caught her breath, tonguing absently at the bite, and didn’t miss the way Isabela’s gaze focused on her mouth. Her lips pulled back into a grin. “What, no smart comment?” she said. “I should have thought of this years ago.”

Isabela flicked her eyes up to Aveline’s, tilting her head back, haughty, provocative. “Well, well,” she purred. “I didn’t know you had it in you, big girl. I’m impressed.”

“I don’t need your condescension, whore,” Aveline snapped. “Shut your mouth.”

“Hmm,” Isabela said, and arched against her with a smile. “Make me.”

Aveline knew a goad when she heard one, but she also didn’t care. It was startlingly easy to pin one of Isabela’s wrists against the wall: for all her wiry strength, it couldn’t match the solidity of Aveline’s bulk. Easy, too, to yank her gauntlet off and shove her hand up under Isabela’s skirt—if it could even really be called a skirt—and into her smallclothes, finding her slick and hot and desperate against her calloused fingers.

Isabela didn’t exactly shut up, but Aveline counted it as a win regardless.

Isabela fought against her—threatening her with violence if she so much as slowed her strokes, spitting and swearing as she tried to tear at Aveline’s shoulders and only succeeded at raking her nails over her armour. She bit her way down her neck instead, ignoring Aveline’s hissed breath at the bruises she left behind. She came with a convulsive jerk and a choked-off sound, her entire body going taut in Aveline’s grasp.

Almost before Aveline could extract her hand, Isabela had shoved her off with such force that she staggered back against the opposite wall.

“Fuck you,” Isabela snarled, and then she was gone, disappearing into the streets of Lowtown without even stopping to adjust herself.

Aveline bent to pick up her discarded gauntlet with a trembling hand. She wore her kerchief high on her neck for the next week.

Isabela turned up at her house a few days later in the middle of the night. Aveline awoke to someone yelling and pounding on her door and was halfway to armed before she realized the voice was Isabela’s.

“Aveline, you man-chinned bitch, get out here and let me in!”

There was the sound of glass shattering and Isabela swore, thumping on the door again and yelling, “I just broke my fucking bottle, I hope you’re happy!”

Aveline stalked over to the door and yanked it open, neatly catching Isabela when she stumbled. “Stop yelling before you wake up all my neighbours,” she said. “Unlike you, I like living in a house. I’m sure as hell not letting you get me evicted.”

Isabela looked up at her with eyes that weren’t nearly as sloppy as her smile, and Aveline knew—she was there to provoke her. All her good sense was screaming at her to shove the pirate wench out of her home and bar the door, but something about this felt inevitable. Already, her blood was thrilling to the press of Isabela’s body.

She let her in. Isabela regained her swagger as soon as the door was shut, backing her into the kitchen. “Nice nightshirt,” she said. “I’m surprised you don’t just wear your armour to bed, though I suppose this is almost as bad. Even my grandmother isn’t so modest.” She prodded Aveline in the collar—sensibly covered by her perfectly ordinary neckline—and grinned in a way that wasn’t entirely friendly. “Are you afraid someone’s going to swoop in in the middle of the night to ravish you?”

Aveline folded her arms across her chest, fighting the self-conscious urge to smooth down the creases in her shirt. “And what do you call this?”

Isabela smirked. “Good point,” she said, as if that had just occurred to her. She dropped to her knees, looking up at Aveline with hooded eyes. “And now that we’ve established why I’m here, be a good girl and hold that—that prudish monstrosity out of the way for me.”

“After last week, you’re still going to call me a prude?” Aveline said, but against her better judgement she complied. To Isabela’s great delight, she did not wear smalls under her nightshirt. Aveline nearly smacked her away at the scandalized glee on her face, but before she had the chance Isabela had shoved her back against the wall and buried her face between her legs.

One of the benefits of that position, Aveline reflected—before all her higher brain function shut down—was that even Isabela found it difficult to talk with her mouth full of cunt.

Aveline had been eaten out before, but never like this—never by someone who so plainly knew what she was doing, who set to it with such ferocious will. Her legs were shaking in moments; but for her grip on Isabela’s hair and the wall at her back, she’d have been on the floor. Isabela didn’t just use her tongue: she used her whole mouth. When she sucked in Aveline’s clit, Aveline nearly bit through the skin of her knuckles trying to keep quiet.

Her orgasm slammed into her mere minutes later, and she collapsed back against the wall, her throat raw with strangled cries. Isabela was all over her immediately, barely pausing to wipe her face before she pressed Aveline back into a defiant kiss. Despite the force of it her lips were unbelievably plush and soft, the taste of Aveline all over her mouth. It was heady, exhilarating, frightening. The Aveline of two weeks ago could never have imagined it.

The Aveline of today was still wildly out of her depth. She broke away, panting, turning her face from Isabela’s. “We can’t keep doing this,” she said, even as she was digging her fingers into her ass to press their hips together.

Isabela laughed. “Don’t see you stopping,” she said.

Aveline couldn’t exactly blame her. They were grinding against each other, Isabela practically riding Aveline’s thigh, squeezing corded muscle between her legs as Aveline held her firmly in place. It was thrilling—but at the same time, Aveline could feel herself slipping over the edge of something, into an uncontrolled descent she couldn’t see a way to rein in. What was she going to find if she fell?

She didn’t think she wanted to know.

“I’m serious,” she said. “This is too much, it’s—I can’t—after this you’re going home and we’re never doing this again.”

Isabela made a skeptical sound, incongruous with the way her hips bucked in Aveline’s hands. “Whatever you say, big girl.”

Aveline knew she wasn’t making the most convincing argument, but she meant it. Her head wasn’t clear right now—had it ever been clear around Isabela?—but if she could just hold out until she left—

She had to fight the tide of inevitability Isabela carried with her if she wanted to avoid being swept up in it herself.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it had just been cowardice. She could at least admit to the possibility, in the privacy of her own head. But at the time ending things had been the only way she could see not to lose herself.

Isabela hadn’t taken her seriously at first, but Aveline was nothing if not stubborn, even to the point of stupidity. Despite all the opportunities Isabela had presented her with—at the Hanged Man, in the streets, out on Hawke’s endless string of errands—she had kept herself from initiating. She had wanted to—oh, Maker, how she had wanted to, for a very long time after—but she had held herself back until it became habit, until Isabela had stopped making offers, until slowly she could put it behind her entirely. She had noticed her growing attraction to Donnic with something like relief, and had allowed herself to fall into it happily.

To her surprise, Isabela had never mentioned it to anyone, or taken any of the myriad opportunities to bring it up again once she realized Aveline was serious about ending things. Hawke, all unaware that anything had changed, had kept making jokes about the tension between them, but Isabela had never responded—or, at least, never in a way that implied he was on the right track. Aveline hadn’t understood it back then. For months, she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never had.

She knew Isabela now. She had figured out years ago that there was no other shoe. That Isabela was genuinely fond of her—well, that had taken longer. But she understood, finally, that for all the teasing and sharp words between them, Isabela would never deliberately try to hurt her. She had kept quiet because she cared.

After all her paranoia, it figured that it would be Aveline who finally let it out in the open.

It was still on her mind the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. It wasn’t intentional—frankly, she’d have preferred if it had stayed in the past, where it belonged—but she found she couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying. The memories had long been buried, but she’d unearthed them for the first time in years; now she was picking at them like a hangnail or a callous. They felt almost surreal—like they’d never really happened, or had happened to someone else.

And to make matters worse, she couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of Isabela every time they were in the same room. Fortunately, Isabela seemed just as inclined to give her space as Aveline was to avoid her.

Donnic noticed, of course. He was sensitive even to the things she hid, and she was doing a poor job of hiding this. Still, he left her to her thoughts for the first few days—no doubt giving her time to wrestle them into order. Still, she knew he’d bring it up eventually.

It was at dinner nearly a week later that he finally said something.

“You’re still thinking about Isabela, aren’t you?”

Aveline tried not to flinch, setting her knife down. It didn’t sound like an accusation, but it was hard not to take it as one. “Yes,” she said. “It’s been… hard not to. But I swear, it doesn’t mean anything. I said it was in the past, and I meant it.”

Donnic studied her for a long moment, his eyes more considering than scrutinizing. “I really do think we should talk about this, love.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Aveline said. “Really. Nothing else has ever happened between us, and nothing ever will. I love you. I wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything.”

Donnic smiled. “I know that,” he said. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Aveline.”

Aveline sat back, taking her turn to study him. To all appearances, he seemed sincere.

“What, then?”

Donnic sighed, reaching across the table for her hand; without even thinking about it, she met him halfway, letting him fold up her big fingers in his even larger ones. “It’s just that… I want to understand,” he said. “It seems like it’s eating at you inside. Something is wrong, even if it’s not that.”

Aveline squeezed his hand, wondering for possibly the thousandth time just what she had done to deserve such a good-hearted man. “I suppose it’s just that—it was so, so wild. It seemed like it was completely beyond our control. And I’m not like that. I want love, and stability, and partnership—everything I have with you. But at the same time, I can’t help but wonder…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t regret ending things with her, and I’m so happy and so lucky to have you. I just wonder what might have happened, if I had let myself go instead of holding back. That’s all.”

Donnic nodded. She could see him chewing over her words, that same considering expression back on his face. Aveline tamped down her impatience, wanting to let him come to a conclusion before she insisted on his answer.

Still, the waiting was making her horribly antsy. If not for Donnic’s warm grip on her hand, she’d already have jumped up to start pacing around the kitchen.

“You know,” he said finally, “I don’t think that being faithful has to mean only being with one person. You always come home to me, no matter what else is happening. Isn’t that commitment?”

That was so far from what Aveline had been expecting that it took her a good ten seconds to make her voice work again. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting I sleep with other people?” she said. “I expected you’d be jealous at even the suggestion that I was attracted to anyone else. Now you’re saying the idea doesn’t bother you at all?”

“I want to see you happy, love, that’s all. You don’t seem happy with this still hanging over you.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you if you decide you want to do anything about it. But if you decide it would be better to try, I wouldn’t take it as you being unfaithful. Just talk to me about it first.”

Aveline stared at him, too stunned to make a response. He just squeezed her hand and released it, going back to his dinner. “Just something to think about, I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

So Aveline thought about it.

Things swung back into equilibrium with Isabela, and she started joining Hawke on his little outings again. She kept her eyes on Isabela still, but rather than the uncomfortable awareness of the past week, her focus was wondering, curious.

She had always noticed Isabela’s body, and she’d never thought of that as significant. She was fairly certain that everyone noticed Isabela’s body: half the time that seemed to be the whole point of Isabela. But now, when Aveline found her gaze sliding to her in the field, she paid attention. And quite abruptly she realized just how often it was that Isabela drew her eyes.

How had she never noticed before?

And more importantly: how much of her time and energy had been spent on not noticing?

And once she noticed that, it was harder not to notice other things, too—like the way Isabela effortlessly danced around her when they fought. Gone were the days of interrupting each other in battle—now they always seemed to pass where each other wasn’t, in a perfect harmony of knives and sword and shield. Aveline hadn’t been conscious of doing that. Was Isabela?

She couldn’t say. All she knew was that the more she thought about how they moved together, the more aware she was of her own body—not the horrible awareness of self-consciousness, but a confident awareness that filled her skin, grounded her, settled her into herself. She had always enjoyed training, the strain of muscles that came with mastering a sword technique, but this made it something else. She was surprised at how sensual it was.

How much had she repressed, she wondered, her eyes on Isabela as they followed Hawke back to the Hanged Man after a long day in the Undercity. She had been so scared of this all those years ago. Now she couldn’t think what her reasons had been. The drop she had been so afraid to tumble over had turned out to be all of five feet from the ground.

Maybe what Donnic was offering her was a second chance not to be a coward.

They were having breakfast when she brought it up again—a simple, homey meal of hard cheese, summer sausage, and soft fresh rolls Aveline had picked up from the bakery around the corner. The kitchen was quiet, the fire still banked, the morning sunlight creeping slowly across the table. She couldn’t have asked for a more comforting place to have this conversation.

“I think you were right,” she said, casually, as if she hadn’t spent half the night before trying to figure out how to phrase it. “About faithfulness, I mean. You’re my husband. My home. Isn’t it up to us to decide what that means?”

Donnic looked up, a slow smile spreading across his lips. If Aveline wasn’t in love with him already, she could have fallen for him all over again.

“Does that mean you’ve decided?” he said. “You want to try things with Isabela again?”

Aveline took a deep breath, squeezing her hands together, then nodded. “I think I’d like to see, at least,” she said. “There’s no guarantee anything will happen, after all, but I’ve been thinking about it, and… I don’t think I could stand not to give it a second shot.” She stared down at her breakfast, trying to collect her thoughts. “I’d never really… thought about being attracted to women before. I don’t know why not. The way I look and act, it’s not like no one had ever suggested it before.”

Donnic chuckled, and despite her nerves Aveline found herself responding in kind, looking up to meet his eyes fondly. “I supposed I’d just decided it didn’t apply to me, and it didn’t occur to me that I could have been wrong until—” She cleared her throat. “Well. You know. But I wasn’t ready to deal with it back then.”

“You think you are now?”

“I think so.” She laughed suddenly. “Do you realize the irony of this? My husband—my second husband, no less—getting me to admit I’m interested in women?”

“It does seem a little improbable,” Donnic said. “I just want you to be happy, love.”

“I am happy. Like you wouldn’t believe,” she said. Her smile softened, and she let her shoulders relax. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

He nodded, going back to his breakfast. “Honestly. But I think we should set some rules.”

“Rules? Like what?”

“Well,” Donnic said, chewing thoughtfully on his roll, “is this just about Isabela? Or is it about anyone who catches our eye?”

Aveline didn’t miss the _our_ , and momentarily found herself brought up short. Of course it made sense—if she took a lover, Donnic was well within his rights to want one as well—but she hadn’t considered how she would feel about it.

To her surprise, it didn’t bother her nearly as much as she expected. After all, she was his wife as much as he was her husband. She looked down at the ring she wore on her left hand; it was simple, a plain silver band set with a chip of polished emerald, but he had had it enchanted for strength, fortitude, and protection.

Steady. Constant. A man who made a gift of a ring like that wasn’t going to have his head turned by the first pretty face that passed by.

“I don’t think I want it to be just about Isabela,” she said. “If nothing else, it wouldn’t be fair to you. But at the same time it shouldn’t be just—anyone off the street. Does that make sense?”

Donnic nodded. “You’d rather it be people we know.”

“Yes. People we want in our lives for more than just a night. And we should talk about them first, before either of us makes a move.”

“Right,” he said. “We can decide on a case by case basis.”

“Sounds good to me,” Aveline said. She paused. “Is there someone who’s caught your eye?”

The look he gave her was downright cheeky. “Just you, love.”

She rolled her eyes, even as a flush crept over her face. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious about you,” Donnic said, popping the last of the sausage into his mouth. He stood. “I’m glad it’s settled. But now I need to go on patrol, guard-captain.”

Aveline caught his hand as he passed, pulling him down to her. “I love you,” she said. “You’re the best husband I could ask for.”

He kissed her then, balancing his weight against the back of the chair as he brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “I love you too. And we’ll talk more about this later.”

He left the kitchen, and she watched him go, smiling and propping her chin on her fist. This, she thought, was going to be the start of something thrilling.

 

* * *

 

She felt considerably less excited by the evening.

Oh, certainly, there was excitement there, but the more time stretched on from the conversation of that morning, the more her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. It had seemed like such a good idea when she’d spoken to Donnic, but the more she worried at it, the more nameless doubts started to intrude on her certainty.

She knew she was just overthinking things, but that didn’t help her to actually stop.

She turned in early that night, hoping to escape the cycle of anxieties that plagued her, but all that did was give them a quiet place to run rampant. When she finally slept, it was fitful: she woke when Donnic came to bed, and again when he rolled over in his sleep and pulled her close, and again, seemingly for no reason, into the stifling darkness of the midnight hour.

With a sigh she sat up, scrubbing at her face with her hands and stretching her shoulders in her nightshirt. She didn’t know what to do. A mere day ago it had seemed intolerable not to get a second chance with Isabela, but now that she was planning how to go through with it, she found herself filled with dread. Was she just going to have to resign herself to never being satisfied?

It was only then that she realized Donnic was awake beside her.

He laid a gentle hand on her leg, the mere touch seeming to project calm. “Restless, love?”

She grimaced. “A bit. Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s alright,” he said, running his knuckles along the line of her thigh. “What’s on your mind?”

Aveline hesitated for a moment, then sighed and laid back down, turning to rest her forehead against his. “I’ve been nothing but a bundle of nerves all day.”

He tipped his chin up, kissing the bridge of her nose. “You can tell me.”

“What, right now?”

“You’re obviously not sleeping,” he said.

“No, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be.”

“I’d rather ease your mind.”

Aveline blinked at him, taking in his tired eyes, his gentle smile, the utter sincerity on his face, and something hot welled up in her throat. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck, and laughed a little wetly. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I seem to recall there was a very awkward courtship involved,” Donnic said into her hair.

She let out a startled laugh, swatting him in the side. “And here I was trying to be serious.”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead, and she settled back down, sinking into the comfort she had been missing all day. No matter how scattered her thoughts, things were never as bad when Donnic was near.

“Is it really okay that we’re thinking about doing this?” she said at last. “What if it ruins our marriage?”

Donnic didn’t need to ask what she was talking about. “Do you think that’s likely?”

“Well… no, I suppose, but we can’t know.”

He hummed briefly. “We can’t know it would, either.”

Aveline shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t know what to do with all his gentleness. It would have made more sense to her if they’d had a vicious fight about it; at least she understood those. “It really doesn’t bother you at all? Aren’t you worried I’ll decide I prefer Isabela to you?”

Donnic pulled back a touch, just enough to study her, seeming to read in her eyes all the questions she wasn’t giving voice to. “I trust you, love,” he said, his eyes grave. “I trust that if that starts to happen, you’ll talk to me. And if it does turn out that you were just settling for me, our marriage would have run into problems eventually anyway, no matter what made you realize. I would count myself lucky to have had you for the time I did.”

Aveline, fighting tears, buried her face in his neck again. “How can you be so understanding about this?”

“Because it’s not going to happen, love,” he said, stroking her back. “You’re worrying about something that isn’t going to be a problem.”

“But how can you _know?_ ” she said, aware as she did how plaintive she sounded.

“I know _you_ ,” he said. “You’re imagining the worst-case scenario. That’s what makes you such a good captain: you plan for the times when everything’s falling apart. But as long as we take care of each other, there’s no reason for it to come to that. You’re hard on yourself, love, but you know you’re not a cruel woman.”

Aveline didn’t reply for a moment, then thumped her hand against his chest. “Sometimes I think it’s almost unfair how kind you are.”

Donnic caught her fingers, smiling, and brought them to his lips. “Why? Do you think it’s likely you’re going to decide you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

Aveline’s first inclination was to dismiss the question, but she made herself study it, turning the idea around in her head. Could she picture a future without Donnic?

“No,” she said quietly. “I can’t even imagine it.”

He kissed her fingers again, his smile slanting into something more mischievous. “And now that you know you’re attracted to Isabela, have you stopped being attracted to me?”

“Maker, no.”

“Really?” Donnic said, grinning. “Are you sure?”

Aveline laughed, rolling him onto his back and kicking the blankets out of the way. She straddled his hips, her nightshirt rucking up around her thighs. “I could demonstrate, if you like.”

Donnic wound a hand into her hair, tugging her down into a sweet kiss. Just like that all of Aveline’s anxieties went flying out of her head, as she melted into her husband’s touch and braced her weight against his chest. She was a big woman, broad-shouldered, tall, well-muscled, but Donnic outstripped her in every dimension. He was well over six foot and could fill a doorway effortlessly, with the thickset build common among men who had spent a lifetime building their strength. He didn’t make her feel delicate—nothing could do that, and she was glad of it—but she loved how _solid_ he felt beneath her.

That he grew hair thickly across his chest and arms was just a bonus—to say nothing of the fact that, unlike her, he slept naked.

He let his hands settle on her hips as she kissed him, his thumbs rubbing increasingly insistent circles against her hipbones. She arched into the touch, settling her weight along his body, freeing her hands to card through his hair. His fingers worked restlessly up her body, cupping her breasts and flicking over her nipples, and Aveline gasped against his mouth, pressing down on him. She could feel him getting hard against her, and it sent a low thrill of heat spiralling through her body.

She loved how easy it was between them. Donnic liked having her over him, but it wasn’t about dominance; it was more about the intimacy of it, the familiarity, the way he still hadn’t tired of watching her. He traced his hands down her sides to her bare thighs, working his fingers into the muscle, and together they shifted her nightshirt out of the way. Aveline guided him to her, and she sank down slowly onto his cock, feeling the flush of heat creep up her chest and throat to her face.

Donnic undid the buttons on her shirt as she started to move, opening the front to her navel. She leaned over him, tipping her head to let her hair fall forward around her face. “You’re sure—you’re sure you’re really alright with me doing this with Isabela?” she said, rocking down on him and burying him to the hilt.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Maker, yes, I swear—”

His voice was unexpectedly strained, and she looked up sharply. It took her a moment to realize the flash of emotion that crossed his face was sheepishness.

It had never occurred to her that her husband might enjoy imagining her with another woman.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” she said, biting down her grin.

Donnic exhaled a shaky chuckle, hips shifting beneath her as his hands fluttered restlessly up and down her body. “No—I mean, yes, she is, but—that’s not what I meant, it’s not about her, or even the fact that she’s a woman—”

Aveline caught his hands, placing them firmly on her breasts and bucking into the touch when he squeezed. “What, then? Tell me.”

He laughed helplessly, lifting one hand to cup the side of her neck. “You’re _beautiful,_ love,” he said, as if that explained anything. “I love seeing you like this, I love thinking of you taking your pleasure—with me, or alone, or, or with someone else—if you wanted to, I’d even love to watch…”

The moan that pulled from her throat caught Aveline off guard. “Oh,” she said. “That’s—oh.”

“I know,” Donnic said.

Aveline shook her head, trying to marshal her thoughts. “How should I do it?” she said. “How do I show her I’m interested again? I ended it years ago, before we’d really even gotten started, and now I’m married…”

Donnic dragged his hands to her waist, gripping her tightly and pulling her down on him. “Just be direct. Make it obvious,” he said. His thrusts were speeding up, making it hard for Aveline to focus on what he was saying. “Better if you do it when I’m there, so she knows I know what you’re up to.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. “And—best to keep it to her room, at least for now. I don’t know how I’d feel about bringing her to our marital bed, anyway.”

“It would probably be more convenient,” Donnic agreed. “I don’t mind, though. As long as you don’t kick me out when I’m sleeping.”

Aveline laughed, though it came out more like a gasp. “Is—is there anything you would mind? Me doing, I mean?”

“I trust you,” he said. “It’s up to you what you do with her. As long as you’re comfortable.”

Looking down at him, at all the love in his eyes, Aveline was overcome. She could feel him hot and hard inside her, his broad chest under her hands, his big blunt fingers digging into her thighs, and all of a sudden it was too much, too much—

“That’s it, love, that’s it, come on—”

“Oh—oh, Maker,” she gasped, and jerked against him as her orgasm shuddered through her.

She was still raw and oversensitive when he came inside her, and she moaned with it, balanced so perfectly on that knife-edge between pleasure and pain. Donnic lifted her off him carefully, tucking her down against his chest, and ran his fingers through her hair and down across her chest and belly, still exposed by her open nightshirt. And Aveline drifted, blissful and warm.

He always knew when she came back to herself—some tightening of her muscles, something that indicated that she was once more a person, rather than a collection of sensations inhabiting a body. He smiled down at her and kissed her deeply, and she lifted a hand, tracing it over his cheek.

“Feeling better, love?” he said when he released her at last.

“Much,” Aveline said, conscious of the relief in her voice. “And I think I might actually be tired enough to sleep now.”

Donnic chuckled, but didn’t say anything else, just pulling the blankets up over them. Aveline fixed a few of her buttons by feel, then gave up on the rest and settled down onto the pillow. Her last thought, before she dropped off into a mercifully unbroken sleep, was that her nerves had once more turned back to a gentle thrum of excitement. She was ready to step into the unknown.

 

* * *

 

It took her several days to summon up the nerve to take the next step. It would have been one thing to say something to Isabela alone, but she needed to have Donnic there, and the only time she ever saw them both at the same time was in the company of the rest of Hawke’s crew. She had no idea how Isabela was going to respond, to say nothing of everyone else. She was used to charging into the fray, but this was different.

Mercifully, Donnic was patient with her. Now if only she could learn to be patient with herself.

Fittingly, when she did finally succeed in saying anything, it was once again at the Hanged Man. It was still early enough in the evening that they hadn’t yet retreated to Varric’s room, and their usual table in the taproom was well-attended. Hawke and Varric were playing a card game of their own devising—one that inexplicably seemed to involve them hitting each other a lot—and most of the table was engrossed in watching: Fenris making sardonic commentary, Merrill giggling and cheering both of them on in turn, and Donnic intently studying their plays as he attempted to figure out the rules. At the other end of the table, Isabela was flirting with Sebastian, turning everything he said into an innuendo and making him get increasingly red in the face the longer she went on. Only Anders was missing—as harried as he ever was lately, shut up in his clinic working on some project he hadn’t wanted to talk about.

Aveline, her skin buzzing with the heady awareness of Isabela’s presence, was keeping half an eye on her as she worked her way through a late dinner—or, at least, whatever passed for dinner in the Hanged Man’s kitchens. She wasn’t paying attention to the ongoing card game, and so was caught entirely unprepared when Hawke enacted a dramatic collapse into her lap, wailing about his latest loss and Varric’s cruelty.

He jostled her enough that she nearly dropped her knife on his head. “You oaf, what are you doing?”

“I have been _struck down_ ,” Hawke said. “Protect me. Avenge me!”

“You’re the one who suggested slapping as a penalty,” Varric said, merciless as ever as he shuffled the deck back together.

Aveline attempted to haul him up by the back of his collar, but he clung to her with an unreasonably tenacious grip. “Hawke, get off me,” she said, biting down laughter. “I’ve had a long day, I just want to finish my dinner.”

“Forsaken!” Hawke cried, attempting to burrow into her lap. “Aveline, my red-haired beauty, how could you do this to me?”

“Get off me, you ass!”

“Well, well,” Isabela said. “Looks like Hawke is muscling in on your territory, Donnic. What do you have to say about that?” She was leaning dramatically over the table to get a view of Hawke’s antics; Aveline tried very hard not to think about just how far she could see down her shirt.

Donnic could see where she was studiously not looking, and he caught her eye, suppressing a smile. “My wife can take care of herself.”

Aveline flushed, but smiled back, fighting down the laughter she could feel bubbling up in her throat. With some effort, she unwound Hawke’s arms from her waist and manhandled him back into his own chair: for all that he was strong, he was no warrior, and Aveline carried a twelve pound shield on her arm every day. He slumped in his chair, making a theatrical show of his rejection while Merrill patted him consolingly on the arm, concealing her laughter behind her other hand.

“Poor, poor Hawke,” she said.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him. He still owes me three sovereigns.”

“You are being absurd,” Fenris said dryly, but there was something fond in his eyes as he looked at Hawke, even as he self-consciously toyed with the red fabric knotted around his wrist.

Aveline went back to her dinner. “Stick your face in someone else’s lap,” she said, without pity.

Isabela laughed. “You’re such a prude.”

The air contracted around the table, though no one but Aveline—and perhaps Donnic—seemed to notice. Quite suddenly she knew: this was going to be the moment she tipped over the edge. She was almost dizzy as she looked up at Isabela, fighting to keep her voice casual. “Isabela, I’m surprised at you—we both know you know better.”

For just a moment, the table went quiet. Aveline kept her eyes on Isabela, though she could feel Merrill and Sebastian’s confusion, and the surprise radiating off of everyone else. It had been three weeks since the first and only time her dalliance with Isabela had come up, and Aveline had shut that conversation down decisively. She couldn’t exactly blame them.

Isabela met her eyes, momentarily uncertain, and her glance skittered briefly to Donnic. Then she grinned, and Aveline could practically see the moment she decided that if Aveline was willing to joke about it, it had to be fair game. She sat back in her chair, folding her arms under her chest—and if Aveline noticed what that did to her cleavage, well, that was her business.

“Sure,” Isabela said, “but that was years ago, big girl, and you were delightfully repressed back then. But now you’re married and boring and having regular sex, and you’ve gone and taken all the fun out of it.”

Aveline looked across the table at her husband; he was watching her intently, and gave a tiny encouraging nod. She grinned at Isabela, nudging her knee under the table. “I haven’t changed that much. I can prove it if you like.”

If she had thought the table was quiet before, it was nothing to this. The noise of the taproom, normally just so much background noise, was abruptly the only thing Aveline could hear. The last time she had seen Isabela this shocked had been years ago, after she had just kissed her for the first time. Aveline fought down a giddy grin.

Unsure of how to respond, Isabela looked between Aveline and Donnic. Donnic—Maker bless him—just smiled politely at her, sitting back in his chair and sipping slowly at his wine.

Sebastian broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Well,” he said, his voice slightly strangled, “if this is where the night is going, I think it’s time for me to go back to the Chantry. If you’ll excuse me…”

Aveline couldn’t help it: she burst into a full-throated laugh as Sebastian flushed and made his escape.

Shaking themselves from their shock, Hawke and Varric called hearty goodbyes after him, and Fenris raised his hand in farewell. As if by unspoken agreement, the table went back to its usual lively self, if a bit self-consciously. Aveline did not miss how Hawke was trying to avoid getting caught looking her way.

Oh well. Not her problem. She went back to her dinner; a moment later, Hawke and Varric went back to their game, louder and more aggressively than before. Across the table, she could hear Merrill asking Isabela what she’d been talking about, but she tuned them out. Her eyes fell on Fenris, who was studying her openly from his place at Varric’s side.

Unlike Hawke, he didn’t look away, cocking his head slightly towards Isabela in question. Aveline just offered him a half-smile and a brief shrug, and after a moment he mirrored her and went back to watching the card game.

If only it could be that simple with everyone.

The night wore on without any more surprises, and everyone had near put it out of their minds when Donnic yawned, stretching his big arms behind him. “I think that’s it for me,” he said, getting to his feet and conscientiously pushing in his chair. “It’s been a long day, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” He came around the table, bending to kiss Aveline, and she tipped her face up to him like a flower to the sun. “Have fun, love.”

Aveline could see Hawke watching them out of the corners of his eyes. Isabela wasn’t even bothering to be that subtle. Aveline smiled at her and held her gaze as she said, “Don’t worry, I will.”

Donnic winked at her—so subtly she might have missed it on anyone else’s face—and left the taproom. An air of expectation hung over the table: it was like no one had quite believed it before, but now that Donnic was gone they were waiting with bated breath. This wasn’t the first time he or Aveline had left ahead of each other, especially when their schedules with the guard were out of synch, and Aveline was often out with Hawke and their friends on her own. But this was different, and everyone knew it.

Everyone, it seemed, but Merrill. She too stretched her arms behind her, elbows twisting in ways that Aveline might have put down to blood magic if she hadn’t seen Merrill do the same thing with a variety of joints a thousand times before. “That might not be a bad idea, you know,” she said. “It is getting pretty late. Isabela, could I borrow your bed again?”

Slowly, Isabela said, “You might have to go back to your own bed tonight, kitten.”

“Oh. Really? Why?”

“Well,” Isabela said, drawing out the word between her teeth, “I think I’m going to need mine.”

“What—” Merrill stopped, her eyes going wide as she looked between Aveline and Isabela. “Oh. Oh! But—”

Varric was eyeing them as well, but he cut Merrill off before she could get into any awkward questions. “Come on, Daisy, you can have a couch in mine instead.”

Merrill beamed at him. “Thank you, Varric! That’s very sweet of you.”

Varric led her away from the table; she looked back over her shoulder as she passed Isabela—giggling and making an obscene hand gesture that Aveline was sure Isabela had taught her, and that Aveline was just going to pretend she hadn’t seen. She and Isabela were left at the table with just Hawke and Fenris, who were trading significant glances with a lack of subtlety Aveline would have called excessive if she’d had the slightest leg to stand on.

“I suppose that settles it!” Hawke said brightly. “Everyone else is gone. I guess it’s time to go home! Come on, Fenris, I’ll walk you back to Hightown.”

He got to his feet, still babbling cheerily, and Fenris followed, eyeing first Aveline and then Isabela with a look that promised dire consequences if either of them made a mess of things. Then he was gone, and Aveline and Isabela were left alone. Aveline folded her arms across her chest and sat back, waiting for Isabela to speak.

She did not disappoint.

“Alright, big girl, I’ll bite. What the hell are you up to?”

“What does it look like?” Aveline said. “I’m sure you must have slept with married women before. Poxy tart.”

“Shit,” Isabela said. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Do you think I’d still be here if I wasn’t?” Aveline said, fighting down a hysterical laugh. She felt giddy and reckless, utterly beyond control. A small part of her couldn’t believe she was saying this, but the rest of her, for the first time in her life, was enjoying being in free-fall. “Let me make this as clear as I possibly can: I want to fuck you.”

“Shit,” Isabela repeated, and then she was out of her seat and grabbing Aveline’s forearm, dragging her up the stairs and into the hallway on scrambling feet. In her haste to follow, Aveline nearly overtook her, her pulse pounding in her ears when Isabela stopped in front of her door. While Isabela fumbled with the key in the lock, her hands frantic, Aveline pressed her up against the door, hands gripping her hips, her entire body thrilling with it.

As soon as they were into the room, Aveline lifted Isabela bodily and threw her down on the bed, kicking the door shut behind her. Isabela landed with a gasp, surging back up to meet her halfway in a kiss that was more teeth than lips.

It had been years since they’d kissed, but it was every bit as rough and wild and exhilarating as Aveline remembered. She jerked her hands through Isabela’s hair and Isabela broke away from her with a moan, tearing at her shirt in her haste to get it off. Aveline was certain she heard something rip as they yanked it over her head, but she didn’t care. They crashed down onto the bed together, Isabela’s nails raking over Aveline’s back as Aveline fought with the laces on her undershirt.

She tore her way out of Isabela’s grip as soon as she was freed of the garment, taking full advantage of her training as a guardswoman to pin her to the bed and methodically strip her of her clothing. Try as she might, Isabela couldn’t struggle free of her grip.

“Fuck,” Isabela groaned as Aveline dragged a hand up her inner thigh. “I’d forgotten how big your hands are.”  
  
Aveline laughed. “Really?” She found a hidden knife, unbuckling the strap and tossing it aside. “I thought you never got tired of reminding me how awkward and mannish I am.”

“Oh, fine, if that’s the way you want to play it—hey! Stop taking my knives!”

Aveline had just found another one; that made five. “This is more knives than any one person needs,” she said. “Maybe I should arrest you. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Are you _searching_ me?” Isabela said, torn between delighted and horrified.

Aveline yanked the lacing from her corsetry (two more knives) and pulled her shirt over her head, twisting it around her wrists (another one on a cord between her breasts). “I ought to confiscate these,” she said, turning the most recent one over in her hand.

Isabela laughed, yanking her hands back sharply enough that Aveline overbalanced and lost her grip. A brief struggle for the knife ended with Aveline on her back, her wrist caught in a vice-like grip, the blade forgotten as it clattered to the floor. Isabela sat above her, her body bared, her skin glowing in the light of the hearth, her breasts heavy and full as she leaned over Aveline, the rounded swell of her ass pressing down against her pelvis.

“You didn’t even find them all, you know,” she said, shaking her hair free of its kerchief.

Aveline swept her eyes down her body—naked, but for her jewellery—and raised her eyebrows. “Where are you keeping the rest of them?”

Grinning, Isabela twisted something on the side of her golden collar and pulled out a tiny knife, barely the length of her finger. She brought her palm down to grip the side of Aveline’s neck; Aveline went utterly still, even her breath freezing in her lungs. She could feel the tiny pinprick of the blade—brass, most likely, to hide amongst the gold—pressing against her throat. The sensation sent a flare of heat straight down to her core.

All the same, she managed to keep her voice gratifyingly level as she said, “Oh, come on, Isabela, really? A secret knife in your necklace? Just in case all the rest of them aren’t enough?”

“Hey, it’s saved my life at least twice already,” Isabela said, grinning. She traced the point of the knife in a slow line down Aveline’s neck, across her collar, over the peak of her breast—not pressing hard enough to cut, but reminding her she could in the gentle scrape of metal on skin. Aveline’s breath stuttered in her chest when Isabela brought it down over her stomach, using the blade to outline her muscles.

Of course, Isabela noticed. “Oh, you like that? You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Do you enjoy when crime fights back, _guard-captain?_ ” she said. Her smile turned wicked. “Maybe I should cut you out of your trousers.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aveline said.

Isabela had been on top of her for quite long enough, she decided; it was time to do something about that. The other woman was still pinning her wrist. Aveline yanked her arm sideways, knocking out her support, and used the momentum to throw Isabela down on her back. That was enough for her to lose her grip on Aveline, and Aveline took advantage to pin her in return—not snatching away the knife, or even trying to make her drop it, but preventing her from using it.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Isabela said, tugging at her grip and laughing.

“It’s like that,” Aveline agreed. She ran her hand down Isabela’s stomach, pushing her legs apart, and dug her fingers into the silky flesh of her thigh with a nearly bruising grip. Bending her head, she bit down on the underside of her breast, sucking a mark onto her dark skin. Isabela cursed, raking her nails over Aveline’s shoulder, and wrapped her legs around her hips.

“Fuck, just get on with it,” Isabela said. “I don’t remember you taking so long last time.”

“You’re the one who said I was married and boring now.”

Isabela nearly groaned, thumping her head back down against the mattress. “Well, I take it back, now will you just fuck me already?”

Aveline rather thought she would.

Isabela gasped when Aveline sank two fingers into her, arching her hips up into it. Aveline pressed her thumb against her clit, working at her roughly, and within seconds Isabela was meeting her every thrust. “Oh, fuck, yes, that’s it,” she said. “Come on, I know you can do better than that.”

“Are you always such a wanton mess?” Aveline said. Experimentally she slid her third finger inside her along with the other two. Isabela took it easily, making a pleased noise in her throat.

“You love it, big girl,” she said. She dug her nails into Aveline’s shoulder, pulling her down over her. Aveline kissed her deeply, biting at her lips; Isabela moaned into it and met her strokes with renewed vigour. Aveline pressed her thumb more firmly against her clit, added her fourth finger, and fucked her even harder.

Isabela near snarled when she came, biting down on Aveline’s lower lip and clawing at the skin of her back. Aveline released her and sat back on her heels, grinning, and a moment later there was a clatter as the knife dropped from Isabela’s hand. Then Isabela shoved herself upright, grabbing Aveline by the back of the head and jerked her down into a hard kiss.

“Get your fucking pants off,” she hissed.

Mouth suddenly dry, Aveline scrambled to comply, kicking her boots off and yanking her trousers and smallclothes from her hips. Isabela pulled her onto her lap, hands immediately digging into the muscle of her ass. “Tell me,” she said, as she bit her way down Aveline’s chest, “is there any part of your body that is not built like a brick wall?”

“What would be the use of that?” Aveline said, burying her hands in Isabela’s hair.

Isabela laughed against her sternum, dragging her nails down Aveline’s thighs. She wormed one hand down between them, rubbing against Aveline’s clit, slick with how wet she was. Aveline gasped and bucked against her—that touch was like a brand.

“Isabela—”

“That’s it, big girl, let me make you come,” she said, sucking a mark onto the side of Aveline’s breast.

Aveline buried her face in her hair, held on, and let Isabela wreck her.

She collapsed on the bed afterwards, sore and sated. When she came back to herself, Isabela was lying on her side, her chin propped on her fist, smirking down at her. Her hair was a mess, tangled and sticking to her face, her skin was flushed and glowing with sweat, and there were bruises blossoming on her chest. Aveline was quite certain she had never looked better.

“I’m impressed, big girl,” Isabela said. “You exceeded my expectations.”

It took Aveline a moment to remember how to make her voice work. “Of course I did. You’ve got low standards, slattern.”

Isabela laughed, open-throated and free, and sat up to comb her fingers through her hair. “So, now that we’ve got the sex out of the way, would you care to explain what’s all this is about?” She raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on between you and Donnic?”

Aveline chuckled, slowly pushing herself upright. “We’re not having marital troubles, if that’s what you’re asking.” Isabela didn’t respond, just hiking a brow again, so Aveline continued, “We had… a talk, after I revealed that we’d slept together years back. A few talks, actually. I didn’t want to at first, but he could tell it was bothering me, and he wanted to give me another chance at it. He said he just wants me to be happy.”

“Well, shit,” Isabela said, shaking her head. “So does that mean this is going to be a regular thing?”

Aveline carefully kept her voice steady. “If you’re interested, I’d like it to be.”

Isabela let out a low whistle, grinning. “Look at you,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to be so bold.”

“Yes, I seem to be finding myself in that situation more and more often,” Aveline said. She shifted to the edge of the bed, fishing through their discarded clothing for her smalls. “I’m starting to like it.”

Isabela sat back, lounging against the headboard, resplendent in her nakedness. “So, are you going to tell Donnic about what we did?”

Aveline considered that, remembering the way Donnic had sounded when he’d told her how much he liked the idea of someone—anyone—getting her off. The thought of recounting her night with Isabela sent an illicit thrill shooting through her.

“I think so,” she said. “As long as you’re okay with that.”

“Please,” Isabela said, waving her hand grandly. “When have you ever known me to keep quiet about sex?”

Aveline paused in the process of tugging her boot on. “You did when it was with me.”

“Yes, well,” Isabela said, as uncomfortable as ever in being caught in a kindness. “See if I make that mistake again.”

Aveline laughed softly and went back to dressing.

“This isn’t just some game between you and Donnic, is it?” Isabela said, after a moment’s pause. “Just a bit of titillation to spice up your stagnating sex life?”

“No,” Aveline said firmly. “And our sex life is not stagnating, thank you. Donnic will be interested in hearing about it, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I want to be, and he’s interested because he likes my pleasure. You’re not some pawn between us.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Isabela said, but despite her sarcastic tone there was something fond in her smile. “Alright, big girl, run along home to your husband. But we should do this again sometime. It’ll be fun.”

Aveline couldn’t stop a giddy grin from breaking over her face. “Sounds good to me,” she said. She got to her feet, pulling her shirt over her head, then leaned down to kiss Isabela goodbye.

“Not if you get all romantic on me,” Isabela said, pushing her head away. “Don’t make me change my mind, big girl.”

“Of course not,” Aveline said, batting Isabela’s hand out of her face. “I’d murder you before the week was out if we tried to be romantic. I just want to kiss you.”

“Well—good,” Isabela said, and pulled Aveline down on top of her.

It took Aveline quite some time to get away from that kiss. Isabela was still delightfully naked underneath her, and Aveline wanted so much to touch. Isabela repaid the favour by shoving her hands up under her shirt, raking lines down the small of her back. Before long Aveline was wondering why she had bothered to get dressed again at all, and then Isabela was arching against her, and Aveline had slid a hand between her legs again, and her leave-taking was delayed by a further twenty minutes.

She left Isabela sprawled lazily across her bed, her legs parted and a new bruise forming in the hollow of her throat. The taproom of the Hanged Man was still riotously loud, but Aveline breezed through the crowds, pausing only to settle her tab with Corff. She walked home, feeling light and carefree, drunk on attraction, her body thrillingly sensitive and pleasantly aching with arousal. It was fortunate she didn’t have far to go: she was in no fit state to fend off any of the brigands who prowled the City of Chains at night.

Donnic was waiting up for her when she got in, a candle lit next to their bed; he had a book in his lap, but Aveline would have bet her entire savings that he hadn’t actually been reading. He kissed her back with an edge of desperation, and together they divested her once more of her clothing.

His hands were gentle as they traced over the bruises on her chest, the scratches that marked her back and shoulders, but it wasn’t concern that stayed his touch; if he was careful with her, it was only because he forcibly held himself back. “Was it good?” he said.

She nodded.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Aveline climbed over his lap, smiling, and pushed him onto his back. “Do you want me to?”

He settled his hands at her hips, his fingers pressing into Isabela’s scratches. “Please,” he said.

She did.

 

* * *

 

Aveline didn’t intend to start visiting Isabela every night. She had her own life, and was happy to keep it, no matter how thrilling it was to be with Isabela. All the same, they met often enough that neither of them was ever entirely free of bruises. Aveline was glad for how thoroughly she was covered by her armour; otherwise, there was every likelihood that someone was going to ask if Donnic was hitting her, and wouldn’t _that_ be an awkward series of questions to answer.

Hawke pulled her aside one night as she came into the Hanged Man, after things with Isabela had been going on for a few weeks. He was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, hand clasping his wrist behind his back—a sure sign that he had something to say. The man never had been any good at keeping his thoughts to himself.

Aveline just raised an eyebrow at him, and he grinned sheepishly before blurting, “Are you happy?”

“Am I—” she began, momentarily taken aback by the question. She was used to him prying into her relationships, but it hadn’t occurred to her to consider her dalliances with Isabela in that light. She laughed softly. “Yes, I suppose I am,” she said. “This isn’t what I expected from my life, that’s for sure, but I’m okay with that.”

“Well, that’s good,” Hawke said. “I can’t get my head around it at all, personally. I don’t think I could ever do something like that myself.” For a moment his gaze skated to their group’s usual table, where Fenris was arguing over something inconsequential with Varric, and then his eyes returned to her. “But I’m happy for you. I really am. And Isabela too. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Aveline laughed. “No, we can’t have her thinking you _care_ ,” she said. “Thank you, Hawke. Really. It means a lot, knowing you won’t judge us.”

Hawke waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not. I may quiz you, though. I have a lot of questions—starting with how Donnic feels about this whole thing. I’d ask him myself, but he’s your husband, and I’m pretty sure he still thinks I was hitting on him that one time. He’s a wonderful man, but he’s really not my type.”

“You’re a jackass,” Aveline informed him, grinning. “Donnic’s fine. It was his idea, actually. He wants me to be happy, and this is working. We’ve been open with each other about it from the start. To tell the truth, I think it’s brought us closer together.”

Hawke smiled then—a real, soft smile, absent all his usual twinkling charm and absurd humour, rare even among his friends. “That’s good. I’m glad. He’s a good man, that one.”

“You really have no idea,” Aveline said.

Three days later, Isabela asked after Donnic too. They were in Isabela’s room—had been already for several hours—and Aveline was dabbing elfroot salve onto the scratches on her back. The other woman kept trying to twist away from her touch, so Aveline had given up and pinned her down, and Isabela was laughing as she halfheartedly tried to get out of it.

“So what’s Donnic getting out of this arrangement of yours, while you’re in here tearing my back apart?”

“Are you trying to distract me?” Aveline said. “It won’t work. You already know he’s happy that I’m happy. And he likes hearing about what I’m doing.”

“Not what I meant, big girl,” Isabela said, fondly exasperated. “What’s he _getting?_ Is he just sitting at home on his own, or has he got someone showing him a good time too? Or is it just you who gets a lover?”

Aveline pulled a face at the description of her relationship to Isabela, but she didn’t comment; it wasn’t like they had a better word to use. “He’s not sleeping with anyone else, no. Not at the moment, at least,” she said. “But we’ve agreed that if someone catches his eye, we’ll talk about it and… make things work.”

Aveline let her up, capping the jar of salve. Isabela didn’t bother to move, just chewing on her lip with a contemplative expression. After a moment she smiled, her eyes gone dark. “Do you think he might want to watch us?”

Aveline nearly dropped the jar. Heat flooded her, a visible tide of red that only intensified when Isabela cackled wickedly. “Oh, you like that, do you?”

“Hush,” Aveline said. She set the elfroot down, taking a deep breath and trying to compose herself.

“So?” Isabela prompted. “Would he or not?”

Aveline laughed, a half-choked, slightly hysterical sound. “I don’t think he’d be able to believe his luck, to be honest.”

Isabela’s grin only widened. “And what about joining in?”

For a moment Aveline couldn’t find her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I didn’t know you were interested in him,” she said.

“Sure,” Isabela said with a wink. “He’s big, strong, and strapping, and he has nice hands and better thighs. What’s not to like? Aside from the beard, I mean.”

Aveline swatted her, and Isabela laughed, rolling away from her. “Anyway, it’s just a thought. Ask him, if you want to, or don’t. It’s up to you.”

Aveline didn’t even need to think about it. She knew what her choice would be.

She broached the subject with Donnic the next morning, much to his surprise.

“Really?” he said, once he’d gotten over the shock. “Isabela said that? I didn’t know she’d ever thought about me that way.”

“I think she’s thought about everyone in _that way_ ,” Aveline groused. She put up her hands, forestalling his objection. “No, I’m sorry. She did say she was interested in you. She, ah, said she likes your thighs.”

“My thighs?” Donnic said, his cheeks gone an interesting shade of pink. “I, er. Oh.” He cleared his throat. “What else did she say?”

“Well,” Aveline said, “she made fun of your beard.”

Donnic raised a hand to his jaw. “What’s wrong with my beard?”

“Nothing, love,” Aveline said, pulling him into a kiss. “I like it. Don’t worry about what Isabela thinks.”

“She thinks about sleeping with both of us,” Donnic pointed out.

Aveline laughed softly. “Alright, fair point. So?”

Donnic paused to consider, cupping her cheek. “What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t interested,” she assured him, pressing a kiss into his palm. In truth, _interested_ was an understatement. All night she had been thinking about getting her husband and her lover into the same room—about Isabela kissing Donnic, his big hands on her gorgeous ass, her shapely legs wrapped around his hips…

She shook herself, putting her imaginings away. Another thing she would never have expected of herself—she was as excited about watching them together as, she suspected, Donnic would be in watching her and Isabela.

“Alright,” Donnic said, his breathing a little unsteady, and oh, what Aveline wouldn’t have given to see what he’d been picturing. “Good. That’s good. We should ask her over, don’t you think?”

“Right. Some night that we’re both free. You’re not patrolling on Friday, are you?” That was four days away.

He shook his head. “You?”

“No, I took that day off. Right,” she repeated. “I’ll tell her. Today. I agreed to go out to Sundermount with Hawke, he’s tracking down some assassin. She’s coming with us.”

“Perfect,” Donnic said, and kissed her hard.

He left for his patrol not long after, but not before they’d had a chance to get carried away. Aveline fixed her hair and tied it back, strapped on her armour and shield, and went out to meet Hawke at the Hightown gates, only slightly late. Fenris raised his eyebrows at her, and Isabela huffed a dramatic sigh, but Hawke just greeted her cheerily and set off in the direction of the mountain.

Aveline fell in with Isabela, letting Hawke and Fenris get a little ways ahead of them, wondering at the best way to bring this up. Isabela beat her to the punch, though, flashing her a grin and leaning in conspiratorially.

“Are you going to tell me why you were late? Was it something scandalous? I hope it was something scandalous,” she said. “Let me guess. Was Donnic nailing you on the kitchen table?”

Aveline ignored her despite the flush she could feel in her cheeks, trying not to think about how close to the truth that was. “We talked,” she said. “About what you said yesterday.”

Isabela’s eyes widened in glee, then she fluttered her lashes coyly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I said so many things yesterday. You’re going to have to specify.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Aveline said, amused despite her exasperation. “Don’t go making this any harder. Do you want to hear what we decided or not?” She didn’t pause, not wanting to give Isabela the opportunity to make any more smart comments. “Donnic and I would like to invite you to our home on Friday night, after the evening bell.”

“You’re kidding,” Isabela said. “I didn’t actually think you’d be up for it. Good on you, big girl.”

“Yes, well,” Aveline said.

Isabela wasn’t actually listening. She clapped her hands together, nearly giddy in her glee. “This is so exciting,” she said. “I get to see what you’re like with him. Does he call you captain? I bet he calls you captain.”

Aveline choked back a laugh. “Stop it, you minx.”

Isabela bumped her with her hip, her knives clattering against Aveline’s armour. “You love it, I know you do. You wouldn’t be asking me to your bed otherwise.” She winked over her shoulder, picking up her pace to catch up with Hawke and Fenris. “So it’s settled, then. I’ll see you, and your husband, on Friday.”

Aveline watched her go, enjoying the rush of exhilaration that swept through her. There had been a lot of excitement in her personal life recently, but this topped it all. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Isabela had a lovely swing to her step when she was pleased with herself.

“Come on, you two,” Hawke hollered. “Save the flirting for later! We’ve got an assassin to catch!”

Aveline laughed, shook her head, and jogged after him.

 

* * *

 

On Friday night, the evening bell had come and gone, and Aveline was having a great deal of trouble keeping her nerves from overtaking her.

By unspoken mutual agreement, she and Donnic had spent the afternoon on their usual routine. They had spoken of work, market gossip, Hawke’s latest misadventure—anything but their night’s planned entertainment. Aveline had vented her restlessness in cleaning her armour; Donnic had elected to clean the house. But as the evening wore on, there was less and less for them to do, and Aveline had at last turned to her husband and asked if he wanted to open a bottle of wine. He had agreed with palpable relief.

That was what they were doing when Isabela arrived. Donnic had left the door unlatched and, true to form, she had strolled right in and joined them in the kitchen.

Her eyes swept the room, lingering on Aveline’s hips and throat and Donnic’s bared arms before she turned to the contents of their table. “What’s this?” she tutted. “Having a nightcap without me? I hope you left enough to share.”

Suddenly the full awareness of what they were about to do struck Aveline in the chest. She couldn’t tear her eyes from Isabela. Mutely she offered her a third glass, but Isabela just grinned.

“No thanks, big girl,” she said, swiping the bottle instead and hopping up on the table between them, easy as you please. She took a slow draught from the neck of the bottle, the long line of her throat somehow contriving to make it look obscene. From the smile she cast Aveline, she knew just what she was doing.

“So,” she said, when neither of them spoke up, “how are we doing this?”

The wonderful practicality of her tone broke the spell, and Aveline glanced over at Donnic. “We hadn’t really gotten around to the how,” she said.

“Oh, come on, really?” Isabela said, enjoying herself enormously. “For shame, Aveline. You’ve got to have a plan for these things.”

“What do you propose, then?” Aveline said.

Isabela set the wine bottle on the table, turning towards her and slipping easily into her lap. “I may have a few ideas,” she said. She canted a wicked glance at Donnic, who was watching her wide-eyed. “You like the idea of watching, right?”

Donnic stuttered and flushed, and Isabela just winked at him. Aveline wondered if she shouldn’t do something to rescue her poor husband, but instead found her hands settling into their familiar place on Isabela’s hips. He could fend for himself, surely. At least for a few moments.

And then Isabela kissed her and Aveline very quickly stopped thinking about anything else.

It was a filthy kiss, deep and blatantly sexual, and meant as much for the show of it as it was to arouse. Aveline dug her fingers into Isabela’s ass, and Isabela moaned against her mouth, arching into her body and grinding down on her lap. A heady flush crept up Aveline’s cheeks, sending heat thrumming through her. Next to her, she could hear Donnic shifting in his chair.

Aveline was panting when Isabela pulled away, and she buried her face in her neck—partly to take a moment to collect herself, but mostly because she wasn’t ready to stop kissing her yet. Isabela hummed, rolling her hips down against her, and tipped her head back to smirk at Donnic.

“How was that?”

“I, um—oh, Maker,” Donnic said, in the resigned tones of someone who knew he was utterly lost and was just as prepared to enjoy it.

Isabela laughed and caught his collar, reeling him in for a kiss of his own. He made a rough sound in his throat, then buried his hands in her hair, holding her close with a gentleness that belied the passion she was putting into it.

Aveline watched in undisguised fascination, still firmly holding Isabela to her lap. For the first time, she saw what it looked like when the both of them kissed, and it was achingly familiar and stunningly new all at once. That, there, the tilt of Donnic’s head—she knew what that felt like. Likewise the way Isabela tugged at his bottom lip and surged back in. She had never seen this before, but she knew this kiss.

Isabela released him a moment later, sliding out of Aveline’s lap and onto her feet with a spring in her step. “There,” she said. “That’s broken the ice a little, wouldn’t you say? Why don’t we take this to the bedroom?” And then, leaving them still catching their bearings, she lifted the wine bottle from the table and vanished into their bedroom.

Aveline took a deep breath, looking over at her husband. “You alright?”

Donnic still looked a bit stunned, but he nodded fervently. “Oh, yes.”

Aveline chuckled. “You’ll get used to her,” she said. A moment later that thought caught up with her and, oh, wasn’t that a thrill.

Donnic took her hand, and together they followed Isabela into the bedroom.

Isabela had already made herself comfortable on their bed, her boots unlaced and kicked across the room, her long bare legs stretching sensuously across the blankets. Aveline paused in the doorway, taking in the sight, and found that her nerves had entirely settled.

While Donnic stripped himself of his shirt, Aveline sat down on the bed next to Isabela, stealing the wine back and taking a swig before setting it on the bedside table. Isabela turned her face up to her and they kissed long and deep, and Aveline drew a hand up her leg—appreciating the warmth of her skin, yes, but she also had another goal in mind.

She had grown practiced at removing Isabela’s hidden blades, and she did so now, surreptitiously extracting the two that were within her reach. “No knives,” she said firmly.

Isabela laughed, taking her blades back and setting them next to the wine. “Oh, fine, if you _insist_ ,” she said. “You’re no fun.”

“Don’t be a pest,” Aveline said, and turned back to Donnic.

Despite his eagerness—obvious, now, in the tight line of his trousers—Donnic was looking a bit out of his depth. Aveline’s heart softened, and she reached out to him. “Come on, love,” she said. “Lie down and let Isabela get your pants off.”

Donnic was glad to comply. He kissed her fingers wordlessly as he moved past her, settling in the centre of the bed. Isabela climbed over him happily, fitting her hips snugly against his and making him catch his breath.

“Hello there, guardsman,” she purred, and leaned down to kiss him.

Aveline stripped off her own shirt and trousers as Donnic relaxed into Isabela’s touches, his hands coming up to rest on that same comfortable spot that Aveline’s always did. Isabela explored his body, smoothing her fingers over broad shoulders and muscular arms, the hair that covered his chest, and his thick middle, surprisingly hard under its layer of insulating fat. She inched her way down his thighs, unlacing his trousers and prompting him to lift his hips. The movement by which she simultaneously tugged down his pants and his smalls was smooth and, unsurprisingly, practiced.

His bared cock rested against his leg, heavy and full and very flushed. Isabela hiked a brow, her eyes trailing over it slowly as Donnic shifted under her gaze. “Well, shit,” she said at last. “I can see why you wanted to share, big girl.”

“Isabela…,” Aveline warned. “Be nice.”

Isabela winked, circling her hand around Donnic’s dick. “Oh, but I’m very nice,” she said as she started to stroke. “Donnic, don’t you think I’m nice?”

Donnic made a strangled sound in his throat, then seemed to give up on his powers of speech.

He caught Aveline’s hand when she sat down on the edge of the bed, and she leaned down over him, stroking his hair back and giving him a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Isabela wasn’t pulling her punches, working her hand firmly up and down his length, and it showed: Donnic had quite forgotten his awkwardness in his arousal, hips jolting into Isabela’s touch as he kissed Aveline back with a fervent need.

Aveline pulled off his mouth with a tug on his lower lip, lifting her eyes to Isabela; the other woman was wholly absorbed in what she was doing, her pupils dilated, her hips shifting minutely where she was straddling Donnic’s thighs. Almost without thinking, Isabela bent her head towards his cock, then hesitated, looking up to Aveline.

Aveline swallowed. “Do it,” she said, her throat dry.

“Like that, do you,” Isabela said, and with a wicked smile she swallowed him down.

“Andraste’s ass,” Donnic gasped.

“You can say that again,” Aveline said faintly. She couldn’t take her eyes from Isabela’s lips.

She let Donnic’s hand go, moving down to the end of the bed, and he immediately fisted it in the blankets, arching half off the mattress. Isabela moved with him, effortlessly pressing him back down and taking him to the root. Watching that, Aveline was nearly dizzy with heat, stroking her hand along Isabela’s back.

“You slattern,” she said, fitting her thighs against Isabela’s and bending to kiss her shoulder. “Oh, you’re so good at that.” She ran her hands down Isabela’s sides, gripping her ass with bruising fingers and rucking up her skirt, then wrapped her arms around her and slid her hand down between her legs.

Isabela pulled off of Donnic with an obscenely wet sound. “Ooh, you bitch,” she said, even as she was grinding back against Aveline’s hips. “You’re going to make me lose my focus.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Aveline said, curling two fingers into her roughly. “As if you’ve never fucked two people at once before.”

“As if I’ve never done more,” Isabela agreed, laughing, and went back to it.

Aveline looked up to meet her husband’s eyes; Donnic was flushed, his gaze heavy-lidded, lingering on her bare body and her strong arms and the gorgeous woman they had caught between them. Aveline could feel the pulsing tension between her legs and she _ached_ with it, but at the same time she wasn’t yet ready to let it go. And so she just smiled, tugging Isabela tight against her and picking up the pace of her thrusts, and said, “Pull on her hair, she likes that.”

Isabela nearly groaned when he wound his fingers into her hair, letting him yank her down until her nose brushed his pelvis. Donnic’s hips stuttered at that, his whole body going taut. “Oh—oh, blessed Andraste, Isabela, I’m going to—”

“You don’t think she’s going to stop, do you?” Aveline said, grinding the heel of her palm against Isabela’s clit. “Just let go, love, come on…”

He did. Isabela let out a choked whimper as she swallowed around him, rutting down against Aveline’s hand. Donnic loosened his grip on her hair, collapsing back, and she pulled off of him with a gasp. “Oh—fuck, fuck, Aveline—” she cried, bucking against her. Aveline thrust into her and Isabela came hard, clenching and shaking around her hand.

Aveline didn’t give her a chance to rest. She hauled her up, pinning her against her chest with both arms, sinking her teeth into her shoulder. Isabela shuddered at that, arching her body and tugging experimentally against her hands, but Aveline kept a firm grip on her wrists. “Donnic,” she said, “help me strip her, would you?”

Isabela laughed at that, tipping her head back against Aveline’s shoulder. “Bossy,” she said, playfully pushing her arms down, making Aveline strain to hold her.

Aveline held her fast. “You like it,” she said.

“Mmm, I think he likes it,” Isabela said, winking at Donnic. He had managed to sit up, and was undoing the lacing on Isabela’s shirt, as instructed.  He flushed a bit, but grinned back at her, and Isabela nearly cackled with glee. “He _does_ call you captain, doesn’t he?”

“He does not call me captain,” Aveline said, deadpan.

“I could, if you wanted,” Donnic offered, the picture of helpful sincerity.

“Do not,” Aveline said.

Donnic finished unlacing Isabela and slid her shirt from her shoulders, and she bent her head forward conspiratorially. “And there she goes giving orders again,” she said. “She really does make it too easy.”

“Enough out of you,” Aveline said, tossing her down onto the mattress. Isabela laughed, turning onto her back, and Aveline moved up to the head of the bed. “There are better things you could be doing with your mouth, whore.”

“I quite agree,” Isabela said. “Get over here, big girl.”

Aveline knelt over her head, facing towards Donnic, wanting to see his reaction. Isabela, never one for half measures, grabbed her thighs and pulled her down, and Aveline cursed, nearly buckling at the first broad sweep of Isabela’s tongue across her oversensitive clit. She was desperate, buzzing with it, so wound up she could taste it, with Isabela so eager to make her feel good and Donnic so eager to watch. If she wasn’t careful she was going to lose her head.

Donnic couldn’t take his eyes from her. She reached for him, pulling him into a kiss, digging her hands into his shoulders and fighting not to claw at him as she would have Isabela. He thrilled to her touch, kissing her back just as hungrily; blindly, she dragged her hand down his chest and wrapped her fingers around his cock, tugging and squeezing. It didn’t take long before he had grown hard again.

Gently she nudged him back, leaning down to Isabela’s legs and biting at her inner thighs. Isabela shuddered under her, digging her nails into her ass and scratching lines of sensation across her skin, and Aveline had to fight to remember what she was doing.

“Isabela,” she said, “my husband is going to fuck you now. How does that sound?”

Her response was an enthusiastic moan as Isabela sucked her clit into her mouth.

Donnic positioned himself between Isabela’s legs and slid home with one smooth thrust. She arched beneath them, clenching around his cock, and Aveline lifted her legs to wrap them firmly around his waist. He started to thrust, closing his eyes against the sensation and leaning forward to rest his forehead against Aveline’s collar. As he started to speed up she ran her fingers through his hair, pressing kisses to his crown.

“Oh—Aveline, love,” he said, lifting his face to her, overcome with sensation. “Oh, Maker, you’re incredible—look at you, love, look at you, you’re so beautiful—”

It was overwhelming. Aveline shuddered, clamping her legs down around Isabela’s head and fighting not to jerk against her. Isabela, however, suffered no such qualms, licking and sucking with renewed vigour until Aveline could no longer tell where she ended and her pleasure began. Donnic pulled her to him, and she fell into his kiss as her orgasm shook its way through her.

When the feeling abruptly became too intense she lifted herself from Isabela’s face, giving her the chance to breathe properly. As Donnic kept pounding into her, Aveline sat her up, settling behind Isabela to brace her against her chest. Isabela pressed back against her, begging with her entire body, and Aveline was more than happy to bite bruises over her shoulders.

All of a sudden Donnic’s body tensed; he forced himself to pull out with a groan, wrapping his fingers around his cock and jerking off until he came across Isabela’s belly. She whined in her throat, unwilling to let him go, but Aveline pressed a kiss against her neck and a hand between her legs, and with a shuddery sigh Isabela too arched blissfully into orgasm.

Donnic slumped down to the bed beside her. Aveline found his hand, lacing their fingers together, but otherwise didn’t move from her spot. She looked down at the people in her bed—at her lover, at her husband—and for a brief, dizzying moment, wondered why it had taken her so long to do this.

“Well,” Isabela said, still a touch breathless, “that was fun.”

“It certainly was, wasn’t it?” Aveline said, smiling down at Donnic. He met her eyes sleepily, nodding.

Isabela laughed. “Aw, did we wear him out?” she said. She pushed herself upright, grimacing at the mess on her stomach, and shuffled to the edge of the bed. Aveline let her go, stretching out beside her husband, and watched Isabela move to the washbasin to clean herself up.

“I think you wore both of us out,” she corrected through a yawn.

Isabela looked back at her, and for a moment Aveline could have sworn her eyes were impossibly fond. Then she dropped the cloth back over the edge of the basin and briskly brushed herself off. “I guess that’s my cue, then.”

Aveline frowned, lifting herself up on her elbow as Isabela started collecting up her clothes. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” Isabela said. “I would like to come back sometime. I can’t go wearing out my welcome before I get the chance.”

Aveline wasn’t sure how to parse that, so she just said, “You’re perfectly welcome to stay the night. There’s room in our bed.”

“Really?” Isabela said. “You’ve never stayed the night with me.”

Aveline snorted. “Why on earth would I ever willingly sleep on a bed at the Hanged Man?”

“I—alright, that’s fair,” Isabela said. “You’re sure? I really don’t mind.”

“Just stay,” Donnic said, his voice half-muffled by a pillow. “It’s late. There’s no good reason to be out alone at this hour.”

Isabela rolled her eyes, but Aveline could see her acquiescence in the set of her shoulders even before she opened her mouth. “Alright, I’ll stay. Just don’t expect me to cuddle. You know I don’t do romance.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aveline said tartly. “Now get back in bed, whore. And while you’re at it, you can pass me the wine.”

 

* * *

 

Aveline woke to Donnic stirring beside her. She stretched out against him, working the kinks from her back. Still half-asleep, he nuzzled into her neck, pressing a kiss there and settling his hand on her hip.

From the other side of the bed came a rustling of fabric. Aveline turned her head to see Isabela lounging on one elbow, drinking the last of the wine from the bottle. Still naked, her hair a mess, bruises dotting her neck and shoulders, she looked every inch the debauched mess she was—that they all were. Aveline’s body tingled pleasantly at the thought.

“Good morning,” said Isabela, dropping the empty wine bottle off the side of the bed. “Aren’t you two a sight.”

At the sound of her voice, Donnic came awake properly, blinking in the sunlight streaming in the window. “Morning, Isabela.”

“Hello,” she said cheerily. “You snore magnificently, did you know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” Aveline said. “You kick in your sleep and steal the blankets. I knew I didn’t sleep over with you for a reason.”

“Aw, really? And here I thought it was because you had this beautiful specimen of manhood to keep you warm at night.”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” Aveline said.

Donnic rumbled a laugh, shifting the blankets down so he could sit up. “We’ll all just have to get used to it,” he said. “Assuming you want to do this again, I mean.”

Warmth bloomed in Aveline’s stomach. “Yes,” she said. “Absolutely. Isabela?”

“Why not?” she said, the genuine smile on her lips belying her insouciant tone. “It might be fun to start sleeping with the same people on the regular.”

“Minx,” Aveline laughed. “It’s settled, then.”

She sat up, moving over to the side of the bed. Catlike, Isabela stretched and got to her feet, collecting up her discarded clothing and slotting her knives back into their proper places. Donnic watched this process in fascination as Aveline dug out a clean pair of pants.

“You know, I’m pretty sure half of those are illegal,” he said.

Isabela threw Aveline a mischievous look. “That’s what your wife said, too. Don’t worry—I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Aveline laughed, throwing Isabela’s kerchief at her face. “Do you want to stay for breakfast? It’s nothing fancy, but I could certainly do with a bite to eat.”

Isabela hummed, then shook her head. “I think I’ve lingered long enough. But it’s been good, big girl. I’ll be back.”

Donnic had made it to the edge of the bed by now, and Isabela leaned down to kiss him, playful and flirtatious. Aveline was waiting for her when she turned away and caught her up against her chest, kissing her hard and pulling away with a bitten-red lip. Isabela saluted and blew her a kiss, and then she was out the door and gone, the front door closing firmly behind her.

A few days later, Aveline spent another evening in Isabela’s room. Before she left, she told her the next night she and Donnic were both free; true to her word, Isabela was there again, sauntering into their kitchen as the Chantry rang the evening bell. That night Aveline buried her face between Isabela’s legs while Donnic took her from behind, and they collapsed in a satisfied heap without even bothering to turn back the blankets. The next time, Aveline pinned Isabela against her chest and fingered her slowly, as Donnic kissed and bit his way methodically down her body. The time after that, Aveline sat at the head of the bed and watched as Isabela enthusiastically rode her husband. The sight of his hands on her ass was just as magnificent as she had imagined.

Merrill was the first to figure it out—or, Aveline suspected, to be told. Aveline sat down next to her at the Hanged Man one night, and Merrill leaned over, her eyes sparkling, and asked in an uncharacteristically low voice, “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

Aveline blinked, caught off-guard by the mischief in her tone. “What?”

“Isabela says you’ve been having a good time,” Merrill said. She tapped the table by Aveline’s left hand, drawing attention to the ring she wore there. “I hope you and Donnic have been enjoying yourselves too.”

“Oh,” Aveline said—unable, as she so often was with Merrill, to think what else to say. “We have been, yes. Thank you.”

Merrill beamed at her, and cheerfully changed the subject.

Fenris figured it out as well, Aveline thought, after a couple weeks had gone by. He didn’t ask, but he watched the way Donnic interacted with Isabela with the sharp eyes of someone who had once based his survival on reading the current of the room. That was fine. Fenris wasn’t the sort to talk about things that weren’t his business.

Hawke, on the other hand, was a busybody. Aveline knew the minute he realized what was going on.

It was a quiet night at the Hanged Man; Donnic hadn’t come out with them, and Isabela had already taken Merrill up to her room. Everyone else had gone home, but for Varric, who lived there, and Hawke, who was near always the last to leave.

“So,” Hawke began, just as Varric was taking a deep draught of his ale. “Is it just me, or are Donnic and Isabela rather friendlier than they used to be.”

Varric choked on his drink, going into a brief coughing fit, and Aveline resisted the urge to laugh. “They might be,” she said.

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke, don’t do that to me,” Varric muttered.

Hawke guffawed, thumping Varric a couple times on the back. “Well, this is certainly an exciting new development,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “I don’t know how you do it, really I don’t, but it seems like your life is treating you well. If my friends are happy, I’m happy.” He paused, reflecting for a moment. “Besides, it’s nice to see you and Isabela getting along.”

Aveline grinned. “You don’t see the bruises.”

Varric shook his head wryly as Hawke dissolved into cackling laughter in the background. “You sure do lead an interesting life, Aveline.”

“I guess you could call it that,” she agreed.

Half an hour and another tankard down, Hawke turned to her and said, “Is this going to be a longterm thing?”

“With Isabela?” Aveline said. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about that with her. To be honest, I doubt she’d appreciate it if we did.”

“You’re not romancing her?” Hawke said, wiggling his eyebrows extravagantly.

Aveline snorted outright. “Maker, no. We’re friends. It works for us.”

Hawke just laughed at that and dropped the subject, and that was it—but in the days that followed Aveline found herself pondering the question. She hadn’t spoken falsely when she’d said it wasn’t romance: whatever it was she felt for Isabela, it certainly wasn’t the love she bore Donnic, or had borne Wesley a decade past. But she couldn’t help but wonder if it could accurately be called friendship, either—even aside from the sex.

She was making dinner the next time Isabela came over. Donnic wasn’t home and they hadn’t been expecting her; she had just turned up and dropped into a seat at the kitchen table, in the way that she sometimes had long before they’d started sleeping together.

“Look at you!” she said by way of greeting. “Being all domestic. Do you have a lace apron yet, or should I get one for you?”

“Smartass,” Aveline said, flicking a dishtowel at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t cook anything.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

Aveline turned to look at her, planting her hands on her hips only half-sarcastically. “I ought to send you home with leftovers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Isabela said, waving a hand at her lazily. “I don’t need you mother-henning me.”

“Come off it. Is it really so bad that I want to look after my friends?”

“Oh, is that what we are?” Isabela said brightly. “Do you sleep with all your friends?”

She was teasing her, and Aveline could have responded in kind—but Isabela’s offhand question sounded too much like the thoughts that had been wandering around her head lately, and she found she had to take it seriously. “What do you want to call it, then?” she said, going back to chopping vegetables.

Isabela turned, giving her an odd look, then shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know. Do we have to call it anything?” she said. “I don’t want to be your paramour, and I’m certainly not your mistress. Lover, I suppose, but…”

“No, you’re right, it sounds a bit off,” Aveline said. She could use it in the privacy of her own head, for lack of a better word, but it wasn’t a term she wanted to use aloud. “And I’m certainly not marrying you, so I suppose ‘wife’ is right out.”

Isabela laughed, and some of the tension went out of her frame. “Exactly. It’s better not to put a name to it, anyway,” she said. “It’s nice, but we both know it’s not going to last forever.”

Aveline’s hand paused on the knife. “Why not? Are you planning on going anywhere?”

Isabela pushed herself to her feet in a sudden burst of directionless energy, her chair scraping on the floor. “I just—can’t see the two of you wanting me to stick around forever, that’s all,” she said. “Especially not when I won’t get serious.”

“I don’t want you to _get serious_ ,” Aveline said. “Isabela, we’re friends. I like the way things are. We don’t have to be going anywhere with this. We can just… be.”

“Maybe,” Isabela said, but by the look on her face she didn’t believe what she was saying. “You won’t feel that way forever, though. Look at all this,” she said, making a vague gesture that encompassed Aveline, the kitchen, the half-prepared stew over the fire. “You’ve got a home, a husband—a stable life. Where do I fit in that? And besides, one day you and Donnic will want children, and I’ll be the last person you’ll want around them. Imagine all the awkward questions you’d have to answer.” She laughed sharply, then made her voice high-pitched in imitation of a child’s. “‘Mother, what’s a slattern?’”

Aveline frowned at the countertop. Isabela could have been speaking Rivaini, for all she understood her: as far as Aveline was concerned, Isabela fit perfectly into her otherwise stable life. And as for children…

She shrugged. “I’ll just point at you and say ‘that’s a slattern.’”

That surprised Isabela, and she let out a golden peal of laughter, her entire body loosening. Aveline set the knife down, turning to meet her eyes.

“Isabela—listen to me. You’re part of the family. I promise you, no matter how settled and boring my life gets, you’ll always be welcome here.”

Isabela crossed her arms. “What did I tell you about getting romantic on me?” she said, but the effect of was spoiled entirely by the smile she couldn’t keep off her face.

There was a rattle from the front door, and Donnic walked in, kicking off his boots with paired thumps and calling a greeting.

Aveline smiled and went back to the stew. “In the kitchen, love,” she called back.

He joined them a moment later, eyebrows hiking in brief surprise as he spotted the room’s second occupant. “Isabela! I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he said. “Are you joining us for dinner?”

Aveline looked up, and Isabela glanced between them, meeting her eyes with a slow smile. “You know, I think I will.”

“That’s my girl,” Aveline said.

“Shut it, guardswoman.”

“As you say, _captain_.”

“Am I missing something?” Donnic said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aveline said. She reached towards him across the kitchen, and he came to her, bending his head to kiss her hello. Behind him, Isabela let out a wolf-whistle.

Later, she knew, they would tumble into bed together—Isabela laughing, Donnic intent, Aveline flush with arousal. But that was later. This, right now, was important too.

And so Aveline smiled against Donnic’s lips and lifted her hand to make a rude gesture. The sound of Isabela’s laughter pealed around the kitchen. They were home.


End file.
